


Circus Jerks

by ParaphernaliaWagon



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: AU, M/M, bad guys turning their lives around, comedy mixed with serious drama, there's a cat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 17:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParaphernaliaWagon/pseuds/ParaphernaliaWagon
Summary: Two former villains deal with the trials and tribulations of carnie life. And they might also be falling in love (but you probably guessed that part already).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For context and/or something resembling an explanation of why I wrote this, please see the comics that are conveniently presented in video form at the following links (especially Marvel Fanfare #7). Links are to my Tumblr posts with my overly-emotional and occasionally inane commentary included.  
> https://bisexualcryptkeeper.tumblr.com/post/184268650057/this-one-weirdly-has-the-same-beginning-but-a  
> https://bisexualcryptkeeper.tumblr.com/post/184266566827/actually-the-real-otp-is-blobunus-god-damn  
> https://bisexualcryptkeeper.tumblr.com/post/184302082752/bisexualcryptkeeper-this-story-pisses-me-off-so

“Gunther! I’m back, and I brought you dinner!” The enormous mutant known, for better or worse, as the Blob flung aside the flap of the big tent held aloft without poles or any other visible means of support and entered the semi-gloom within.

“Shhhh!”

“Huh?”

“Approach very carefully.”

“What is it?”

“Stray cat.” The handsome, black-haired man who spoke was tall and muscular, but looked like a delicate doll next to his friend, who was doing his best to obey and walk as quietly as he could. “I need to concentrate. I’m controlling my power so well right now, and this would be a really bad time for the good streak to end. See?”

In his lap a little black cat, purring like a tiny jet engine, screwed up her eyes in an expression of feline ecstasy as he stroked her head and back. Her tail twitched with barely contained excitement.

“Something wrong?”

“It’s a _black_ cat.”  
“So? Come on, Fred, you can’t seriously be telling me you’re superstitious. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“A Black Cat tried to strangle me once.”

“Fred, I’m pretty sure that was a woman, not a cat.”

“You weren’t there. You were dead. You didn’t see it.”

“I’ve only heard the story from you about 40 times.” Gunther continued to pet the cat. The cowed Blob put down the tray of food he was carrying, sat down beside him as gently as he could manage, and tentatively reached out to stroke the cat’s ears with a hand almost the size of her entire body. The cat purred at a volume that sounded like she was trying to alert the whole fairground.

“What a day I’ve had. Running this show _and_ performing in it is running me ragged.”

“You interviewed that potential new act, right?”

“Yeah. Princess Python.”

“I remember. I saw her audition the other night. Pretty impressive. I didn’t know snakes could even be trained in the first place.”

“Me neither.”

“So how’d it go?”

“So she comes in with her python, right, so I say, ‘That thing had better not be poisonous.’ And she just starts off on this lecture— _tirade_ , really, about the difference between poison and venom, and how pythons are constrictors, so they’re not poison—I mean venomous. And I just said, ‘Whatever, lady, it just better not try to constrict _me_ , or you won’t have an act.’ Thing was huge. Apparently she’s got a bunch of different ones, and some of them _are_ poison—I mean venomous. But this one just squeezes goats to death. And it was just hanging out on her shoulders. She must be stronger than she looks to carry that thing around.”

“Seriously? Are you afraid of snakes? You’re so fucking dumb, Fred. There’s not a snake on Earth that could hurt you.”

“Shut up. Of _course_ I’m not afraid of snakes. I’m from Texas. I grew up killing snakes in the back yard. As I was saying…” Gunther interrupted as he reached for the tray of food. “What is this? Baked potatoes… and salami? What kind of a meal is this?”

“It’s just what we have right now. Budget’s getting tight.”

Gunther seized a plain, unbuttered baked potato in his hand and bit into like it was a piece of bread, as if he had never heard of a knife or fork. Indeed, to be no cutlery present, nor any napkins. Both Fred and the cat, which Gunther continued to pet with his other hand, seemed to think this was perfectly normal. With his mouth full, he said, “So whose fault is that? I seem to remember that _someone_ decided his act needed to be improved by having two cannonballs hit him at once, and everyone went crazy trying to figure out where to buy another working cannon.”

“So? Now I get hit by two 20-pound shells at the same time, and it looks fucking amazing.”  
“I know it does, but my point is, you just had to have a replica Civil War Parrott rifle to match the one you already had, and it’s going to take a long time to make up the cost, even with the increased draw your act has now.”  
“I _know_ that. Who’s boss here, you or me? Shut up and have another potato.”

As the two men devoured the potatoes and salami, Fred resumed summarizing his interview with Princess Python.

“So, apparently she used to work for something called the Circus of Crime. Their ringmaster had some kinda gadget he could use to hypnotize an entire crowd, and then the whole outfit would just rob all the rubes blind while they were zonked out. Which means they didn’t actually do a whole lot of performing, which sounds like a bit of a red flag, but having seen her act, I don’t think we have to worry about her not being the real thing.”

“‘Circus of Crime?’ Sounds right up your alley.”

“Puh-LEASE. Circus folk wish they were on our level. I made it damn clear to her that this is a carnival, not a circus, so the audience is as un-captive as they come, and if she can’t keep up with the grind and continuously demonstrate that her act is more interesting than the hot dog stand or the shitty games, she’s out on her ass. I told her in the old days she’d probably have to pray that some idiot kid we hired off the street, green as the first of May, can talk up a decent pitch; but, lucky for her, this is modern times, so we’ve got a tape and a loudspeaker system. At least we do now that we finally have the power hooked up here. No thanks to the county.”

Gunther interrupted. “Look! Look at its little hands. I mean feet. Paws. Whatever they’re called.” He held up the cat’s front paws. Each had an extra digit, like the thumb on a mitten.

“Oh my God.”

“This cat… is a mutant.”

“We have to keep it. You’re gonna hit the road with us, kitty.”

The cat did not react to this apparent announcement of her adoption.

“I’m gonna give it some salami,” said Fred. “Can cats eat salami?”

“I think it’s okay for a cat to have a little salami. Let it live a little.”

The cat greeted the salami with small but enthusiastic nibbles. She even made some tiny, soft “myam, myam, myam” noises, which sounded like they were meant to indicate contentment.

“That’s adorable. Anyway, what was I talking about? Turns out the Circus of Crime has fought Spider-Man, Daredevil, AND the Hulk. So I told her the Hulk is an animal that oughta be put down, and Spider-Man is a nasty little bug who should go drown in a sewer, and so should all the other so-called heroes he associates with (especially the X-Men). And she agreed, except she said spiders aren’t bugs. So I said, ‘Listen, lady! I’m the boss around here, and if I say spiders are bugs, they are! Understand?’ And she said, ‘Perfectly.’ And I said, ‘Not to get all cliché, but this might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.’”

“So you hired her?”

“Damn right I did.”

“Is she union?”

“I just SAID I hired her, didn’t I?”

“Point taken.”

“Anyway, she covers the costs of keeping the all snakes herself. They’re her pets. Don’t know where she gets the money from, but I’m not gonna question it. At this rate she’s practically paying us to let her work for us.”

“Good deal. Hey… I was thinking, since this site’s right next to a river… later this evening, do you want to go down there and… paddle around a little?”

Fred gave him a look that was hard to interpret.

“C’mon. It’ll be fun. It’s been so hot all day. It’ll feel good. There’s not going to be anyone around to gawk at us, and if there is, we’ll make sure they don’t come back. What do you say?”

“Sounds good.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for this chapter only. Discussion of bullying from the bully's perspective. Traumatic events in flashback.

The slow-moving river that bordered one end of the fairground was small enough that it was sometimes subject to arguments as to whether it was a river or a creek, but it was deep enough for swimming in most places, and had a bottom that was fairly uniform and devoid of large rocks. On the fairground side, from where the two men approached wearing just their trunks, it was lined with tall summer grass. The opposite bank was well-shaded by a copse of small trees. To the north, a bridge was distantly visible where a state highway crossed.

“Ah fuck, it’s colder than I thought.” Gunther made a face as he waded into a spot where the water suddenly reached his groin level.

Fred, who was fairly impervious to cold up to a point, smirked at his friend. “Can’t take it? Wanna go back? This was your idea, you know.”

“Laugh it up. If you were shorter and your balls were less well-insulated, you’d be complaining too.”

“Oh, that’s a low blow. Literally. Maybe you’ll feel better if the rest of your body gets cooled down to the same temperature as your nuts.”

SPLASH!

“Asshole. You could drown me if you keep doing that.” Gunther smoothed back his wet hair. “Watch this.” He spread his arms wide, a look of intense concentration moving over his face. A loud gust of air suddenly hit Fred in the face, blowing back his hair. Then water followed air. A circle of riverbed about two feet in diameter was suddenly exposed all around where Gunther was standing. A startled-looking frog attempted to resist but was forced back along with the solid wall of water.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Amazing, right? I wanted to come here so I could try that. It feels really great having this much control over my force field again. Just hope it lasts. I want to try all sorts of things with it.” Concentrating again, he released the force field, water splashing loudly as it rushed back into the space it had previously occupied.

“That looked… awesome. Like Moses parting the Red Sea. But don’t get too much of a swelled head over it, OK? There’s still one thing you’re never gonna be able to move.” Fred waded toward him, smirking playfully. Massive waves of force hit him, pushing water and air against him and blowing his hair back again, but having no effect on his mountainous form as he continued to approach the smaller man, who was smiling unafraid.

The two men play-wrestled for a while longer, sending enormous splashes flying everywhere. “Hey, cool it. If we keep this up much longer, there won’t be much water left in this river,” said Gunther. An annoyed flock of crows fled from the trees, cawing something that might have translated to “Hey, keep it down, jerks! We were just settling in here for the evening!” To the north, an occasional truck rumbled across the bridge, oblivious.

Finally they paused, laughing. “Hold on,” said Gunther. “There’s one more thing I want to show you.” He concentrated intensely again, water moving away from him as before. But this time his face screwed up with even more effort, until his whole body rose several feet into the air.

“Holy shit! You can fly?!”

“Not really. Just push myself away from the ground. Moving around once I get myself up in the air is a bit trickier. But I’m getting better at it.” He shifted himself until he was hovering in a position perpendicular to the ground, then floated closer to Fred and suddenly, without warning, kissed him on the forehead.

Fred blinked, for a split second so shocked that he felt the world around him stop existing. The gravitational field which he almost constantly extended without even thinking, rooting him unbreakably to the earth, vanished, and failing to anticipate the sudden absence of that omnipresent sensation which felt nearly as comfortable and necessary as breathing, he stumbled backwards, falling, shocked, into the water with a colossal splash that could probably be heard all the way from the distant highway. Gunther, also startled into losing control of his power, fell on top of him.

They floated there for what could have been a long or a short time, it was hard to tell. Fred finally broke the silence by mumbling, “I make a good raft, huh? I feel like that bear from _The Jungle Book_. When he’s floating down the river with the kid on top of him.”

Apropos of nothing, Gunther mumbled quietly: “Did you ever finish high school? Don’t answer that if you don’t want to.”

“Nah.”

“Me neither. Ever wish you did?”

“Nah.”

“I don’t know about you, but I was pretty bad at school. I wasn’t a good student, and nobody liked me, so I took it out on smaller kids. Pushed them around. I mean literally. When I started being able to push things without touching them, it got out of hand pretty quickly. People thought I was a warlock. It’s amazing I wasn’t expelled sooner.”

“I know what you mean. I never got expelled though, cuz I left before they could do that to me.” Silently Fred thought to himself: _He doesn’t know what **I** mean, though. There’s no way it was as bad for him as it was for me. How could nobody like him? He’s so **handsome**._ Then he felt a bit ashamed, and told himself: _So he’s handsome, and he probably never had to sit on the floor cuz of not being able to fit into the desks. Doesn’t mean he didn’t have problems. You don’t know what he went through. You’re not the only one who had a bad time in high school. Don’t be so self-centered._ Then he thought: _Dammit, I’ll be as self-centered as I want. High school was hell. I damn well deserve to feel angry about it._

He thought about high school some more. About ninth grade, when his powers started manifesting, although he didn’t know that’s what it was at the time. He’d always been big, but there was no precedent for a boy who was literally busting out of his clothes by putting on close to 200 pounds and six inches of height in just under a month. Stretch marks everywhere which he’d at first though were some sort of disease. Mother constantly struggling to find clothes that fit him.

It was as if everyone—family, teachers, other kids—had all suddenly become convinced that there was something inherently distasteful and Bad about him, and were determined to treat him accordingly until the Bad finally manifested itself in his behavior, thus proving that they had been right all along. He saw the thinly veiled disgust in their eyes and wanted to shout, “I’m the same person! Nothing’s changed!”

But they were soon enough proved right when the Bad manifested itself right on cue. He’d gotten in fights before, but never accidentally put two people in the hospital. Specifically his friends David and Mike. The worst part was that the fight had been over something so entirely trivial and ridiculous—namely whether or not the “Real Fact” printed on the underside of the lid of a Snapple bottle was actually true or not. He didn’t remember what the dubious “Fact” had been about, but he was sure it hadn’t been worth breaking six of Mike’s ribs and giving David permanent brain damage. Holding back tears as he explained to the cops he hadn’t meant to do it, knowing the cops didn’t believe him. Getting suspended, explaining to his parents, knowing his parents didn’t believe him either. Waiting for his day in court, thanking God that the judge believed him. And going from having two friends to having zero.

Now that he knew what he could do, and that he couldn’t be hurt, and that justifying people’s fear of him was far easier than trying to earn their sympathy, a sort of snowball effect began that his impulsive adolescent mind was unable to stop. Now that he’d been in trouble with the law and survived the experience, there was no longer any authority that he feared enough to bother obeying. Except possibly God, but he figured he’d worry about that when he died, which was probably not going to be for a very long time. He looked at his younger sisters, who were terrified of him, though he would rather die than hurt them; and knew that in his place neither of them would be behaving the way he was, and felt momentarily ashamed, but then put that shame out of his mind. He decided that if his high school years were going to be hell for him, then he deserved to make them hell for everybody else too.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” Gunther muttered into his chest.

“Just thinking. Did you ever feel bad about it?”

“About what?”

“Pushing smaller kids around. When you were in school.”

Gunther hesitated. “No,” he said unconvincingly. “What about you?”

“Nah,” Fred lied. “Why’d you start talking about high school, anyway?”

“Well… since we never graduated… I was wondering about maybe trying to get an equivalent degree. What’s it called in this country… a G.E.D.?”

“Why would either of us want to get one of those? We’ve got good steady jobs here without it. It’s tough sometimes, but I love the carnival. I love entertaining people. I love doing what I’m good at without running from the cops or from X-losers or other do-gooder hero types. I want it to last. I want to stay just where I am.”

“I feel the same way,” Gunther said, still lying on top of him. They floated. Distant traffic rumbled. The crows had settled back into the trees.


End file.
